


Resolution

by Shade_Nightwalker



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 11:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shade_Nightwalker/pseuds/Shade_Nightwalker
Summary: It’s hard to go on, when you’ve lost everything that matters. How does Kid Curry cope with loss of his partner?





	Resolution

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by a discussion about what would happen to Kid Curry if he would lose his partner.  
> “The boys are still hoping for amnesty when Heyes is killed by a posse while Kid gets away. How does Kid react? What will be Kid’s ultimate fate?”
> 
> Many thanks to Nebraska Wildfire for editing the story.

“That’s your fault!”

That were the last words he’d ever said to him. None of them knew that they would be.

He wouldn’t have blamed him ... he ...

There was so much he could have said instead, but none of them knew what would happen. It was just another run, just another posse. No reason, no time to think about anything else.

They had been so damn close. Kid Curry had been in lead when the shots rang out. He just ducked down on his horse’s back and spurred it, knowing Heyes would do the same. Just get away, there would be time enough for discussions later.

When he noticed that he’d lost his partner he waited in higher terrain. But he waited in vain.

The next morning, he returned, following his own trail. Cautiously he searched for tracks. He turned around a bush and froze. His heart went cold.

A dead horse and a pool of dried blood ... too much blood ...

He fell to his knees, trying to find the answer.

_Who? WHO?_

But there was no way to find it. The dusty ground kept its secret.

Nevertheless, he knew it. It was Heyes’s horse laying there...

But he couldn’t...? He would have felt it, when...?

There was no other way: he had to return to Tingleton to get word about the outcome. Where they’d keep him. How he was. What had to be done to get him out again.

But the cold wouldn’t leave him.

Blood ... too much blood ...

And it was the last he’d ever saw of him.

The word reached him before he got himself into danger: “ _Heyes shot by posse!_ ” It was the message of the year. It was the message that ended his hope.

There was no chance for him to see his body or talk to him one last time, no chance to bury him in peace, somewhere where nobody would ever find him.

They’d taken any chance away from him. One shot. One damn single shot!

‘ _That’s your fault!_ ’

These words haunted him.

There had been so many things he never had told him ... but ... there never had been a need to do so. Heyes had known about it anyway. Telling him would just have been a chance to regain his peace of mind.

But he wouldn’t get it.

He wouldn’t see him ever again.

He couldn’t even visit his grave. They’ll look out for him ... catch him ... try him ...

‘ _Heyes_ ’ How precious this word was, as precious as had been the man it belonged to.

He missed him, missed him so desperately!

He knew he had to get away before he made a stupid mistake and ended his life in misery, too.

And so, he left. Left the town, left the county, left the state. And he never returned.

Only three days after Hannibal Heyes got shot, Kid Curry died, too. At least he was never seen again...

**Several Months Later**

It was only a small town, high above in the Rockies. Just a few cabins, some more tents and a bargain store.

A dusty stranger rode into town. His bright eyes panned every corner, every street. He didn’t stop until he reached the small store. There he slipped off his horse, tied it at the rail and hesitated a blink before he entered the room.

It was small, not much of a choice, but it held what was necessary in these parts. Flour and corn, salted meat and beans, cans and dried goods, ammunition, clothing and any kind of provision that was needed that far out in the frontier.

His wary eyes took in all the impressions in a moment. They ended their stock-taking at the counter where a nondescript woman stood and watched him. He tipped the brim of his hat and strode towards her.

“Good day, Sir,” she said and waited for response.

All she received was the handover of a crumpled paper with a purchase list. Obviously insecure she accepted the note, scanned it and looked at her customer again. A heavy beard covered most of his face.

“You want to buy all this?”

A short nod answered her.

Uncertain at first, she began to gather the goods. When it came to pick up the heavy sacks, he suddenly stood behind her and gave her a hand. She startled but reined herself in immediately. There was no danger surrounding him, he ... just didn’t speak. Maybe he couldn’t. The strangest kind of men stepped through the store’s door, he just was a new sort of them.

When all was packed together, she told him the price and he paid with hard currency. He tipped his hat again, packed all on his horse’s back and was gone as soon as he had appeared. Only the silver dollars in her hand testified that he had ever been here.

He returned several times, never speaking a word, never meeting her eyes. She wasn’t sure if he even recognized her. But she did. There was something about him that wouldn’t let her go.

The periods between his visits differed, but over time they became more regular. His shopping list was almost always the same and after a while Sally Hartfield knew it by heart. About the time she expected him next, she prepositioned the wares, which he usually bought. Her feeling didn’t betray her. Only a few hours later he walked into the store, silent and with lowered eyes. When he gave her his list, she smiled at him and gestured towards the pile of goods.

“See, I’ve been prepared for you today,” Sally said and smiled at him.

Surprised he looked up and met her eyes. The glance of the light-blue depths struck her like lightning. Even in the shady store they shone in the color of summer sky, asking her a question.

“I thought that you soon would be running out of supplies, mister,” she stammered, trying to gather herself again. There was such a pain, such a sadness hidden in these eyes, like she had never seen before. Quickly she broke the eye contact and weaseled around the counter, trying to keep her hands busy as well as her mind.

“Do you need something else today? We have beautiful apples...”

He followed her with his eyes, but shook his head. With measured gestures he produced a couple of coins and paid the bill. Silently, his eyes lowered again, he tipped his hat and left with his purchase.

But something had changed that day. When he returned the next time, he stayed a while in town, strolled through the streets and had himself a beer in the saloon before he made off again.

The town prospered and over time it became a habit for him, to pass a while here. Sometimes he even took a meal at the newly established restaurant, but wherever he went he didn’t speak there either.

Townsfolk grew used to his sight, declaring him dull because of his lack of speech. Probably he was one of those, who came into the West to make their fortune but never found it. There were many of those stories told and nobody asked too many questions out here.

The man without speech never let out any sign if he cared about the rumors or not.

Sally got used to looking forward to his visits. He was dirty, he didn’t speak but nevertheless he was gentle and polite. She always greeted him with a smile, he always greeted her with a tip of his hat.

One day he was late. She stayed longer than usual in the shop, but he didn’t come. When the light faded, she the closed up and made her way home in the growing darkness. It usually was a peaceable town so she never would have expected, that two strong arms grabbed her when she passed by a narrow alley.

“Here we are, sweetheart, you’re quite what I was looking for!” A dirty stranger dragged her into the alleyway and pushed her towards the wall. He forced a kiss on her and she tasted his foul and alcoholic breath. When she tried to scream, he pressed his dirty hand over her mouth.

“Sssh, darlin’, you don’t want me to hurt you, do you? So, keep nice and quiet and we both will have our fun!” he said while his left hand started nestling on her dress.

“Hold it!” A strong, firm voice cut the air, accompanied by the sound of a cocking gun.

The man startled. He slowly raised his hands and drew back.

“Yeah, back off. Nice and easy,” the unfamiliar voice told him deceptively soft now. “Are you all right, ma’am?”

She tried to catch her breath and nodded. When she remembered the surrounding darkness she voiced hoarsely, “Yes, I am.”

“All right, pal. Get yourself going. I don’t want to see you here ever again. Just touch your gun, you’re a goner.”

A hero when threatening a woman, but faint-hearted when he faced a gun, the man hesitated just one moment before he fled without ever looking back.

Sally stumbled back on the main street and was surprised when she learned who rescued her. The fair-haired stranger holstered his gun as he watched her attacker run away. He nodded at her with a brief smile, before he walked her home in silence. She hadn’t expected anything else. When they reached her home, he did not try to follow her inside.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, turned around and disappeared in the darkness, before she could even thank him properly.

The next day he showed up to pick up his supplies. He went over the occurrence as if nothing ever had happened. But one thing had changed. Since that day he always greeted her with “ _Howdy_ ” and “ _Good-bye, ma’am_ ”, spoken in his soft amiable voice. She wasn’t sure what to make of him. This man was sort of an enigma.

-o-o-o-

The year grew old and the nights got noticeably colder. Most of the huntsmen and trappers had already broken up their camp, heading south for the winter. The fair-haired stranger stayed. Reliable as clockwork he returned to get his supplies and lit up Sally’s day without knowing it.

Snowfall set in and the business slowed down, but one customer always returned. One day, early in December she waited in vain. Maybe the snow had delayed him and he would come tomorrow. But he didn’t come, neither the next day nor the day after. On the third day she started worrying.

She began asking around but nobody had seen him for quite a while. All she got was a rough description where to find his camp and the good advice to leave him be. Most likely he had gone south as all the others, too. But the bad feeling wouldn’t leave her.

So, she told her uncle who was the shop owner that she would be a few days off, packed the most necessary things in a backpack and wrapped herself in the warmest clothing she owned. It took her hours of walking to reach the described clearing. The place was beautiful, surrounded by high trees, sheltering a frozen well and a new built cabin.

Folks must have been right with their assumption, because she noticed no smoke rising up from the chimney. She called herself stupid for her worries and the effort she had made just to stand here in front of a deserted cabin like a fool. The sun was still high in the sky and she decided to take a rest before she started her long way back to town.

Surely, he wouldn’t mind if she rested up in his cabin to get out of the icy wind for a while. She opened the unlocked door and entered. It took a few moments until her eyes adjusted to the darkness inside, still blinded by the bright shimmering snow.

It was cold inside, almost as cold as outside. A hint of cold smoke still hung in the air, but as it seemed, the man she was looking for hadn’t been here for days. The interior was spartan, the furniture obviously handmade; a table, a bench, a rough crate, some shelves and a bed were all she noticed.

Her eyes stopped at the latter one. She squinted her eyes. Then all the blood left her face. She dropped her bag, hurried forward and kneeled down beside the bed. The tall man lay in it, pale and silent, without showing any sign of life. She pulled off her gloves and touched him cautiously. His hands were as cold as ice, but his forehead was burning with high fever.

Sally sent a prayer to God and got herself started. There sat a good amount of wood beside the hearth so she first lit a fire. Next, she filled all the pots and cans she could find with snow and melted it over the crackling flames. She searched the place and the supplies she had on herself, and started tea and a broth.

Then she cared for the man himself. She had to get him warmed up inside and outside, before she could care about the fever. A cold cloth on his burning forehead, she washed his limbs with warm water and instilled hot tea in him now and then. He was barely able to swallow but it went better with every try.

She stayed with him for days, always at his side, holding his hand, telling him stories she had heard over time. When she found a tattered book in one of the shelves, she started reading for him: Charles Dickens’s “A Christmas Carol”. That kind of reading seemed strange to her for such a man, but what did she know about him anyway?

The reading seemed to give his feverish dreams a new direction. He started talking, murmuring incoherent words. He got heated, desperate before he fell silent again and tears seeped out of the corner of his eyes. Sally wasn’t sure if he would make it without the doctor’s help, but she wouldn’t let him lie here alone either. She did the best she could and finally the fever broke.

She spent almost a week in his cabin, caring for him, before he was well enough to even recognize her. By now she was used to his home as if it was her own. The equipment was limited but solid.

She was most fascinated by the wooden sculptures which were placed everywhere in the house. They were beautiful, rich in detail and full of life. They inhabited the table, the board beside his bed, the shelves and the crate where he stowed most of his belongings. The carvings showed a few animals but foremost people of any kind; men, women and children of different ages. One face met her over and over again: male, handsome, big expressive eyes and a smile hardly to forget, framed by striking dimples.

“My family,” the stranger told her in one of his rare clear moments, before the fever returned.

As he felt better, he tried to persuade her to return to town, but she wouldn’t listen.

“I’ll go as soon as you can make your way outside alone,” she said.

It became every day’s challenge to prove whether he was able or not. When he finally made it, she packed her belongings and said him good-bye.

“You can’t go alone,” he said, his voice still weak, everything but unfamiliar to her now.

“Yes, I can,” she said. “Who will stop me?”

“Nobody, but I’ll go with you,” he declared.

“You?” she laughed at him. “You’ll never make it to the far side of the clearing without my help. I’d rather stay for a week or so longer, but you won’t have me here anymore. And it’s everything but decent, now you’re better. I’ll go to town and send the doctor after you, to look you up.”

“Then take at least my horse. You can send it back with the doc coming for me.”

“All right, I’ll take your horse,” she agreed.

With ambiguous feelings she returned into town. He uncle was more than relieved when she finally was home again. He scolded her for the risk she had taken, but she reassured him again, she was all right and nothing improper had happened.

Already the next morning Doc Pendleton rode up to the lonely cabin. Lashed to his horse he had the sturdy dark bay he led back to its owner. It was fully packed with all sorts of supplies needed to get through the most part of winter.

-o-o-o-

Time went by and soon the year neared its end.

Christmas day held a big surprise. When whole town was gathered in the small church attending Christmas service, a stranger joined them, late, but still in time. He kept standing in the back and nobody heard him chime in into the chorales, but he was there – clad in his best clothing, freshly-shaved, holding his hat in his hands. His handsome face surrounded by long golden curls and his bright eyes outshining the stars, he looked like an angel of light, sent down to earth for spreading the word of mercy. His eyes were filled with sadness and regret, as if he mourned the sorrows of the whole world. He didn’t notice the sensation he caused, he just waited and listened in silence.

His sight touched the heart of every girl and woman present, making them speculate about his origin and fate. More than one father or husband had to hush a compassionate female beside him.

After the service when people stood together for a short while nobody dared to approach him, but more than one pair of eyes watched him. He waited for the one person he knew. When she left the church, he stepped to her with a greeting nod, offered her his arm and walked her home. Slowly they passed through the town side by side. She didn’t expect him to talk and she wasn’t disappointed when she was right. When they arrived at her home, she turned around and asked him to join her for the evening. He just briefly shook his head.

“I have to be with my family,” he told her gently. “Merry Christmas, Sally.” His eyes laid warm on her for a while, before he turned around and left, back to the woods and his lonely cabin. Wherever his heart was, it wasn’t with her.

Back in the cabin only cold awaited him, cold and the knowledge of his loss. He lit a thick candle and placed it on the window sill. The only light in the darkening room. He lit a fire and started some coffee and stew. Then he sat down at the table and closed his eyes. Suddenly he wasn’t alone anymore. Instantly _he_ was there, he always was.

“You’re such a stubborn idiot,” Heyes scolded him. “She is very nice to you despite your eerie behavior. You’d almost scared me, if I wouldn’t know you better!”

“Heyes, what shall I do? I’m nothing worth. There’s nothing I have to give anymore. I bring ruin to all I love. I always did. There’s no way for me being around folks again.”

“That’s fine talk on such a special day! Shame on you!” Heyes shot at him. “You’ve got the greatest gift of all and today you even received the mercy of God. What else do you want? What else do you need? You were not that greedy when you still were with me!”

“When I was with you, I had everything,” the blond whispered. “I miss you, Heyes.”

His friend didn’t respond. He just felt a touch on his shoulder, light as the wing of a butterfly. He opened his eyes and was alone again, just like he deserved it.

“Don’t be mad at me, Heyes. I’ll try. I promise you, I’ll try,” Jed Curry murmured into the darkness. “Next year.”

“I know about your resolutions,” a warm, dark voice whispered in his mind. “Don’t try to fool me. You gave me your word. Keep it!”

**Epilogue**

Of course, he stands by his word. In time he will be accepted and find his place in the small community. There's nothing outstanding about him, at least nothing obvious. His beautiful but sad blue eyes still make the ladies sigh and speculate about his past. One day he will find a wife who accepts him the way he is and supports him whenever he needs it without asking him questions. There's a quiet life and I see children, too.

But don't think the man isn't important. He's always there, when there’s trouble ahead and tries to calm the others down. He's wise and his advice and the compromises he finds are gladly accepted. There's more than one hotspur that might have followed a destructive path if it hadn't been for him. He doesn't change the world, but he surely changes the lives of those who met him...


End file.
